Arrogance
by Paradigm of Writing
Summary: The Witch-King was prepared to cause the doom of Gondor as we know it. It is the perfect plan, siege the grand city and raze it by sunrise. What the Witch-King did not plan on was the arrival of Rohan, and how his own arrogance would lead to his downfall as it was told long ago.


**Hey everyone, Paradigm of Writing here with a new one-shot called Arrogance in the Lord of the Rings fandom. I had been skimming through the LotR section last night, looking at stories about the Witch-King and his arrogance that no man could kill him, but that led to his unfortunate downfall, which looked really cool in the movie should I say. My cover, yes I know is not a picture of the Witch-King, but I could not find a fitting example since the cover picture is of Agandaur from the PS3 game of War in the North; a decent game. This is how arrogant the Witch-King was leading from his talk with Gothmog in the movie; till his death. Enjoy! My actual first fanfiction in the Lord of the Rings fandom, so let's see how this will go.**

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From his perched spot above the ruined city of Osgiliath, the Witch-King stared intently at the glistening city of Minas Tirith across Pelennor Fields. His second-in-command, Gothmog stood nearby, a gnarly hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Are we ready to attack, my lord?" Gothmog asked gravelly, itching to use his prized weapon on the fearful Gondorians.

"Move into the city. You will kill all in your path." the Witch-King rasped shrilly, balancing the reins of his fellbeast between his scaled hands.

"What of Mithrandir? The wizard?" Gothmog inquired, his voice full of distaste as if the very syllabells of Gandalf's name were as corrosive as poison.

"I will break him."

Gothmog turned around, eager to start. Cupping his gnarled hands around his sandstone colored face, he shouted to the brethren of his orc group. "Prepare to mass for the assault!"

Although you could not see the ravaged man behind the mask, between the folds of midnight and slate, there was a plastered smile on the Witch-King's face, completely sadistic and evil. Snapping the reins of his devilish steed, the fellbeast soared into the sky, it's ear-shattering cry causing humankind everywhere to shudder. Time for the siege of Minas Tirith to take place. It was here and now that the world of men would fall.

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The day could not have been going any better for the armies of Mordor. Originally, Gothmog thought it would be the best if to start barraging the city with their catapults and devastate the outer defenses on the wall. The Witch-King flew around on his fellbeast allowing his steed to screech to it's heart content. The soldiers below panicked in fear and scampered, becoming easy targets for the fellbeast's claws. Even though the Witch-King was a ruined man, destroyed by the malice of the One Ring and Sauron's coercion, he kept one custom that the men in Middle-Earth did. He named things. His steed was given the name of Ragnor in secrecy.

The steward of Minas Tirith, Denothor, was to put it bluntly, going insane. As the Witch-King flew around, he saw the depressed proctor of the Gondorian city leading a funeral band it seemed. The Witch-King had leaned his iron crowned face closer to realize that on a fleece skin stretcher that a body accompanied the mat. It was Faramir, the only surviving son of Denothor's.

"_How foolish," _the Witch-King thought to himself as he swooped back to the lower levels of the city. "_He'll miss the grand burning of this city. His proud symbol for the world of men will just become another standing building of stone; it'll have lost purpose." _

When he turned to fly back out over the battlefield, he had seen Gandalf, the 'White Wizard' riding his faithful horse Shadowfax up the winding gravel road of Minas Tirith. More than likely, he was going to stop Denothor from killing his son. Thinking that he had time to spare, and that Ragnor was with him, he decided to visit Mithrandir a visit.

It went perfect from the start. Breaking Mithrandir's staff was a bonus, as the Witch-King summoned as much power as he could to light his sword. The shattering wood was the cherry on the top, for now this wizard who was such a symbol of hope could now become an unidentifiable body amid the wreckage and ruin of the White City.

As he was about to bring his Morgul blade down on the defenseless leader, he heard a horn sound out through the valley. Behind his iron mask, the Witch-King slit his onyx eyes and hissed back at the source of the horn. "_Théoden," _the chieftain of the Nazgul declared silently, "_You've made a grave error in coming here. I shall deal with you swiftly." _

Abandoning Mithrandir and his hobbit stowaway, the Witch-King flew to the new battle. An mass of Rohirrom were stopped at the stoop of the hill, before it dived into the plain before the city. Théoden of Rohan was leading the charge, being the only one dressed in golden armor. The glistening sun made the army look more menacing then it should have. It was as if Galadriel's light was pouring on the cavalry of Rohan, blessing them. As Théoden rallied his troops with one of the longest speeches the Witch-King ever heard, Gothmog down in Pelennor Fields pulled his army forward. Cavalry was not an easy opponent to take on, no matter how strong the other army may be.

It was the wave of mahogany that streamed down the slope minutes later that caused the Witch-King to stirrup on Ragnor. The cloud of oak clashed into the waves of midnight and cardinal on the plains and were ripped apart. The Witch-King could hear the chaos below him, even though he was more than a thousand feet up. The Mordor army that Sauron worked so diligently at was now being ripped apart by Middle-Earth Vikings? Unacceptable. Thinking he only had one chance, the Witch-King told Ragnor to swoop down, and kill the only rider with the white horse. The cries that followed King Théoden's thrashing was fulfilling. As Ragnor was about to deliver the sustaining final blow, this _man _just stood in front of it barring two slate knives.

"I will kill you if you dare touch him." the soldier hissed, bracing to attack.

The low guttural laugh that came afterwards caused the soldier to back up in expectancy of a strike. "You fool," the Witch-King rasped behind his mask. "Do not come between a Nazgul and his prey."

Likewise, as the Witch-King spoke, Ragnor reeled it's head up and tried to bite the foolish pawn and kill him. Evading the move as gracefully as an elf, the soldier swiped his knives across Ragnor's neck. The Witch-King could only watch in helplessness as his dutiful steed toppled over. The soldier swallowed grimly, clutching his knives like a mother embracing a child. The Witch-King swung his body around to face the doomed enemy. His mace swung from his scaled hands, the spikes causing fear to radiate from the soldier's eyes. Screeching with a cry that was below decibel level, the Witch-King thrashed forward, his mace arcing in a wide circle. The soldier ducked again, somehow knowing when to move. With a lucky strike, the shield that the soldier was carrying shattered in two, causing the soldier to sprawl against the ground. The Witch-King, in his gloating, moved forward. Closing his spiked hand around the soldier, he lifted him upward, ready to choke the defenseless prey.

"You fool," the Witch-King taunted. "No living man can kill me. Die now."

Then there was a sudden burst of pain, a knife stab in the back from nowhere. The hidden attacker fell back with a scream. As the Witch-King slouched to his knees, the soldier he was planning to finish off stood valiantly and removed his helmet. No longer was this soldier a he, but a she.

Defiantly, the woman raised a fallen sword. "I am no man! You look upon the eyes of Ewoyn, the niece of King Théoden!" With a battle cry, she thrust the sword into the Witch-King's face.

The Witch-King emitted some shrill wind noise from his crumpling mask, Ewoyn watching in surprise. As the metal folded in one another, the Witch-King crumpled forward. The words of Glorfindel echoed through his mind. "_The Witch-King of Angmar, the defender and ruler of Minas Morgul will not die by a man's hand, but of a woman's." _The elf's words were the last thing the Witch-King heard before he passed. The last glimpse of the world he planned to destroy was more chilling.

Before the Witch-King was vanquished back to death, he saw a yuletide of green rushing to the battlefield, killing everything in their path.

Only if the Witch King hadn't been so arrogant.

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**There you guys go! I hope you enjoyed this. Please review and I'll see you next time. Love you guys!**

**~Paradigm of Writing**


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